


The Five Stages of Joining the Stargate Program

by hydriotaphia



Category: Generation Kill, Stargate SG-1
Genre: Gen, Meet the aliens, Post-Series, Same shit different planet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-17
Updated: 2013-10-17
Packaged: 2017-12-29 16:26:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1007557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hydriotaphia/pseuds/hydriotaphia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are five stages to joining the Stargate Program. All of which are confusing, most of which are life-threatening, and Brad’s never sure if the inclusion of the only group of men he trusts to have his six makes intergalactic missions somehow better or worse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Five Stages of Joining the Stargate Program

**Author's Note:**

> Written for gelaecter for YAGKYAS 2012.
> 
> Warning for some violence, getting captured (which always happens when Cam Mitchell is around), and shooting people.
> 
> Thank you to m. who literally wrote a section of this with me in chat, and my eternal, eternal gratitude to j. who makes everything better.

**Stage One: Recruitment**  
  
Brad was re-assigned three months after they got back from Iraq.  
  
The LT was already out, Ray was waiting on his discharge, and what Brad was supposed to be doing was packing for the UK. But then an unknown Colonel with a pronounced southern drawl waved him into a quiet room off an empty corridor on base and itched at his chin while he looked Brad over.  
  
"Staff Sergeant Colbert, I’m Lieutenant Colonel Mitchell. I’m here to inform you that you’re on an extended TDY to the Air Force and NORAD as of now."  
  
Brad blinked. "NORAD? All due respect, sir, the urgency for Recon Marines in Colorado seems fairly limited."  
  
Mitchell smiled. "Classified."  
  
"I see. My orders as of 0900 yesterday were to attend assignment with the Royal Marines, sir."  
  
"Yeah, well. There’s been a change of plans. But I can personally guarantee you’re gonna love it."  
  
Brad steeled himself.  
  
"You ever heard of General O’Neill, Colbert?"  
  
"No, sir."  
  
"Didn’t expect you to. All things will become clear in time. You report to Cheyenne Mountain in two weeks; the Royal Marines can get someone else. Any questions?"  
  
"I have a few," Brad said slowly, "But somehow I suspect you’ll tell me the answers are classified."  
  
Mitchell’s smile widened.  
  
"You’re getting the hang of this, Colbert. You'll be puttin' together an expedition team, Sergeant. I can give you some files to–"  
  
Brad interrupted, "Sir, Corporal Ray Person, Corporal Walt Hasser, Private James Trombley."  
  
The Colonel pushed his files into a rough pile and raised his eyebrows. "So nobody who already works for us then."  
  
"I don’t know who works for you, sir, but I’m confident in my men’s abilities."  
  
Mitchell pursed his lips. "Well, as my grandma always said, there’s no sense in breaking up a band that’s fiddlin’ in harmony. There’s just one problem. I see here Corporal Person’s put in for a discharge."  
  
Brad met the Colonel’s eyes squarely as he said, "Offer this to him. He’ll accept."  
  
Mitchell nodded and rose from the desk chair. "I know you have more questions than I can shake a stick at," he said, "And I know you’re gonna go home and hop on your laptop and google ‘General O’Neill’ just as fast as you can. You do that, but it’s not gonna tell you much. Show up at Cheyenne Mountain, Colbert, and you’ll have your answers. After," he added with a shrug, "you sign the non-disclosure agreement."  
  
"Understood, sir."  
  
Three weeks later, when Brad’s quiet lunch was interrupted by Ray shouting, "Colbert, you sly motherfucker!" in his ear, he just smiled.  
  
Marines were nothing but adaptable and Recon Marines were nosy goddamn motherfuckers, but there was nobody on the planet Brad would rather trust on his six. Especially around the goddamn Chair Force.

  
 **Stage 2: Meet the Wormhole**  
  
"Alien. Planets," Walt said, soft and quiet, when the airmen showed them the Stargate for the first time.  
  
Even Ray didn’t manage more than an inarticulate, strangled grunt of some kind at the sight of it.  
  
Brad wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but it wasn’t the large, round thing in the middle of the room that didn’t look anything like a gate or a star.  
  
Trombley twitched beside him. "This is so cool," he breathed, his mouth open and eyes wide.  
  
"Trombley, close your mouth." Brad said automatically and tightened his grip on his weapon.  
  
"SG-4 is incoming at 1620 today," Airman Hiram said. "You’ve all got guard duty; General’s orders. Major Conley will brief you, but take it from me, the two things you want to do today are take the safety off your P-90 and never, never approach the wormhole until it’s been cleared stable. The kawoosh will kill you. And if it doesn’t, Landry probably will."  
  
Trombley looked away from the Stargate to ask, "What’s a kawoosh?"  
  
Hiram grinned. "Unstable vortex of a wormhole. You’ll see. Stand back, let it do its thing. And if SG-4’s coming in hot, which they will be, don’t fucking shoot until you see a target."  
  
Four pairs of eyes stared hard. "Reconnaissance Marines," Brad said dryly. "I think we can manage."  
  
"Even Trombley," Ray agreed. "As long as there aren’t any camels or shepherd boys coming through because all bets are fucking off then."  
  
"Ray."  
  
Ray sighed. "Shutting the fuck up," he muttered.  
  
Hiram watched with what amounted to fascination if the twitching at the corners of his mouth were any indication.  
  
"Gentlemen," Brad said finally. "If we are to be the greeting party for a team of dirty, sleep-deprived, alien-fighting, hungry-ass Marines in four hours, we’d best get ready."  
  
Ray naturally followed him after they left the weapons room, and made himself at home on Brad’s bed. There were no windows in the room, just four off-white walls and a utilitarian military sparseness reminiscent of boot camp.  
  
"You know, homes," Ray said from behind him. "It’s obvious Mattis had a big, girly hard-on for us after Iraq, but fuck, it’s like the head cheerleader just asked us to prom, paid us to gangbang her afterwards, and begged us to come on her tits."  
  
Brad snorts. "Ray, cease attempting to regale me with your proud hillbilly, trailer-trash, coming of age stories. And get your boots off my bed."

  
 **Stage 3: Meet the Things that Come Through Wormholes**

  
Hiram hadn’t been lying. The Stargate was fucking spectacular, Brad thought. He hadn’t been able to look away from the spiralling cloud that burst out moments before the wormhole stabilised and SG-4 spilled out of it, yelling and shooting.  
  
And then the scuttling noise started.  
  
"Clear to engage!" Conley yelled, as several spider-shaped, dog-sized bodies scrambled through the Gate, and he opened fire.  
  
Even through the chaos, Brad could hear the steady one-two-three of gunfire from beside him. Across the room, the baby-faced Marine looked like he was about to shit himself, but held to the rhythm.  
  
Over comms, Brad heard Carter say, "Shut the iris!" and concentrated on the spider-like things while up ahead a series of metal spikes spun out of the Gate and into each other, locking tight. Seconds later, he heard the sounds of the wormhole disengaging.  
  
The bugs didn’t die quickly or easily. They adapted; they were smart. They crawled up the walls, and dropped down from the ceiling, slipped behind equipment and darted out to snatch their prey. Bullets only stunned them, and the Gate team was kept busy for several precious minutes holding off the onslaught. Once stunned, KA-BARs slit the vulnerable flesh between armoured head and hard-shelled body. Gelatinous membranes and clear, leaking fluid made the whole place slippery and Trombley smiled the whole damn while.  
  
"Hey, Brad," Ray called out in the showers, blood and guts pooling around the drain at his feet. "I look like your mom after she just gave birth to your giant, pussy-busting Iceman ass."  
  
"Or like you just ate a can of ravioli," Hasser retorted.  
  
"Fuck you, Walt!"  
  
"Faggots," Trombley grumbled.

“It could have been worse, “Conley said. He soaped his chest and shrugged. "“They could have been invisible this time.”

Brad didn’t even have the will to ask.  
  
  
 **Stage 4: Make Friends**  
  
"Look, Brad, it's like race-cars," Ray grabbed the MALP control and sent it up and over the hill. "Fucking aliens don't know what a Recon Marine can do with this shit."  
  
"Person, slow it down."  
  
"No, no, aim it slightly to the left. Next to the tree that looks like a baby giraffe. " Vala pointed at a tall, dark building. "I know this planet. It’s famous for its jewels."  
  
"Ma'am, I'm afraid I'll have to request that you don't give Person any orders his tiny brain can't process."  
  
Ray rolled his eyes. "Sergeant, I've got this."  
  
"Yes, yes, he does. Now, about three meters to the right. Hard."  
  
The MALP slipped through a narrow opening in the building.  
  
Brad gave a sigh of relief that Ray hadn't taken out $4 million worth of Air Force equipment for a chance to stare down a woman’s cleavage, that is, until the camera plunged into darkness with a crackle of static.  
  
There was silence for a minute.  
  
“Well, that’s unfortunate,” Vala said.  
  
Brad closed his eyes for a second, Iceman mask on, though Ray could tell he was fighting between violence and laughter. "Person, this is the reason your whiskey tango mother gave you dumpster diving toys."  
  
Ray jiggled the control back and forth. "This is what happens when you give military contract to the lowest bidder, Sergeant."  
  
Vala piped up. "We'll just have to go retrieve the MALP. Right, Daniel?"  
  
Doctor Jackson nodded wearily.  
  
"Good. Now, boys, grab my things and let's go."  
  
Aghast did not even begin to cover it. Ray stared at her. "Does Recon Marine translate to bell-boys in your fucked-up language?"  
  
Brad said, "Shut up, Ray," and gestured towards the satchels at Vala's feet.  
  
Ray noticed that Brad, the motherfucker, merely led the way, leaving him and Trombley to bring up the rear. As pack mules. "Temporary duty reinforcements, my ass," he muttered. "You people just need babysitters."  
  
Four steps out, though, he heard Jackson ask, “Whiskey tango mother? I don’t think I’ve heard that one before.”

  
  
 **Stage 5: Travel to New and Exciting Places**  
  
"This is not how I planned to spend my weekend," Mitchell said, eying the gap between the trees.  
  
"You have weekends?" Carter asked as Mitchell broke his concentration to turn around and gesture Brad forward. "Sounds nice."  
  
"Sure does," he replied distractedly. "Colbert, anything on the tree line? I coulda sworn I just saw something move."  
  
"Negative, sir. Person and Hasser reported nothing, so they’re not taking the scenic route back."  
  
"Damn it," Mitchell said, and ducked a little lower as though he could peer further through the trees if he leaned forward a little more. "Vala and Daniel should be back by now. How long does it take to translate a few walls?"  
  
Sam looked at her watch and at the distance. "They’re nearly 30 minutes over schedule. On the other hand," she continued, "it’s Daniel and Vala."  
  
"I know," Mitchell replied. " _That’s_ what I’m worried about. This sector’s been buzzing about the Lucien Alliance lately, which means there's an extremely good chance the villagers have been told about the bounty on SG-1. And if they’ve contacted the Alliance you can bet those assholes will be double-timing it here. They've got a score to settle with us, and it's not pretty." He looked towards Carter again and smiled ruefully. "Really wish we had some of those Pegasus gate-ships about now."  
  
"Sergeant," he said, coming to a decision. "We’re going to see what’s keeping them so long. I’ll call it in to General Landry. You get your team assembled and into the forest."  
  
"And then what's the plan, sir?"  
  
" We go in and get Daniel and Vala. If this goes bad, you’ll need to come rescue us."  
  
"Take the path that curves down to the stream," Carter said, securing her flak vest and stepping in front of Brad. "This part of the planet slopes away from the village. You’ll need to come out in the trees to the northwest. The entrance to the village inn is up against the gates."  
  
Brad stared from one Colonel to the other for a second, and then asked, "What’s the ROE here, ma’am?"  
  
Sam grinned. "Anyone who’s trying to kill us. Yell at anyone who’s trying to get in our way. Leave children and bystanders alone, unless they become threats."  
  
"Okay, here’s the plan," Mitchell said, "Get to the village, keep an eye out. Stay out of the way until you get my signal."  
  
Brad maintained his stoic resignation. "The signal that is part of the plan, sir?"  
  
Mitchell shrugged. "You’ll know it when you hear it, Sergeant."  
  
"Copy that," Brad said and motioned the team to move out.  
  
"Let's go," Mitchell said to Carter.  
  
\--  
  
"Man, I never thought I’d fucking say this, but I fucking miss sand," Ray griped softly, back to a tree while Hasser covered his advance.  
  
Walt snorted under his breath, and Brad threw them both a calm, ominous stare just for form’s sake but he didn’t need to say it. Ray had his game face on. Was clearly buzzed, wired, whatever, from the adrenaline, but he was solid. And Walt was already moving, already gaining terrain.  
  
When they got within eye distance of the village, Brad tapped Ray on the shoulder and pointed to where the trees grew tall and thick. Ray looked at the tree, and glared at Brad for a long second before nodding. Brad motioned Hasser to cover the ground retreat and Ray and Trombley slipped like shadows to the edge where a creaky old pine hung over the high boundary fence.  
  
The SG-1 mission, like all ones they’d heard about, was clearly screwed. From his perch, Ray could see clear into the village square where Jackson and Vala were kneeling with their arms tied behind their backs. Mitchell and Carter were just being dragged in, Mitchell bleeding from a gash to the forehead and Carter wincing every time the asshole behind her pressed down on her shoulder. They were no longer armed and Ray could have sworn he hadn’t heard a single gunshot in the last hour.  
  
He watched for the count of twenty and then slipped back down to join Hasser.  
  
"Get ready to storm the battlements," he whispered and grinned brightly at Hasser’s confused frown.  
  
"Status," Brad whispered softly.  
  
"They’re up shit creek and we’re the motherfucking paddle," Ray said.  
  
Brad and Trombley took advantage of the commotion in the square to sneak into a house right near the gate. It was empty, thankfully, and they made for the attic as quick as they could. The best part of villages was that the houses crowded together, so it was a quick matter of a few good handholds for them to swing from one to another until they were close enough to the centre to see SG-1 kneeling next to a group of four heavily armed men.  
  
"I’ll take the first shot," Brad said, "We’re not here to kill more than necessary."  
  
"Fucking aliens," Trombley grunted.  
  
Mitchell and Carter were still struggling, Mitchell repeating his usual 'Let us go and we will not harm this village' speech.

The important part was that neither of them was bound yet. Bloodied, bruised probably, but not bound.  
  
Brad got into danger-close range at a window overlooking the square just as Jackson raised his head and said something to Mitchell. Vala's "Cameron, what good are you if you're captured too?" made Brad grin as he settled his weight, settled his shoulders, and breathed deep.  
  
Then he lined up his first shot.  
  
The guard-with-the-keys' chest exploded like a melon.  
  
Mitchell barely wasted a second, up and moving even as the body slumped to the ground. He grabbed at the man's wooden staff and swung into a set of aggressive moves that Brad thought Rudy might weep in pleasure over.  
  
Carter scrambled for the keys on the dead man’s belt.  
  
After that he didn’t get much time to look. He lined up his second shot and took out a flowerpot over some old guy’s head.  
  
Trombley hit two guards in quick succession and then wreaked havoc on wooden houses and thatched roofs, firing up in quick bursts.  
  
Panic filled the air. People were screaming, running towards and away from the captives, but Mitchell had the keys now and Jackson and Vala were grabbing weapons in stiff arms.  
  
Jackson, not to be outdone, leaped at the nearest guard and tackled him to the ground, with his hands still bound behind him. The weight of a solid body certainly seemed to wind the man but it was probably Jackson's vicious head-butt that took the guy out of commission.  
  
Brad turned his eye away from the scope just far enough to say, "Go Trombley." He shot the last guard in the shoulder on an exhale.  
  
SG-1 was making for the gates, ducking the occasional assault with rough and ready ease. And through it all, Mitchell was still shouting at the crowd.  
  
Brad wondered idly what it meant that Mitchell even had a speech for the occasion as he and Trombley moved down stairs and out the backdoor into a small courtyard. They startled a flock of chickens that clucked and squawked and ran wildly around their feet.  
  
Brad peered around the corner just as Mitchell and the others came charging towards the gate.  
  
Ray and Walt had vantage points on either end of the gate and were already covering the advancing retreat laying down suppressive fire that did more to rid the village of worms and other insects in the dust than anything else because they understood the difference between threat and violence.

A couple of short, sharp bursts into the ground and only once did they actually hit anything, when a quick farmer with a sickle almost caught up to Trombley and dug the point of his weapon into his neck. Walt took the motherfucker down with pinpoint precision, the guy flung backwards by the impact of the shot, the little hole in the head already leaking blood before the body hit the ground.  
  
The sudden return of fire was more terrifying.  
  
"Lucien Alliance. Get to the forest," Mitchell panted, "Head for the ‘gate!"  
  
They didn’t need to be told twice, they were already doing it. They turned tail and ran for twenty heart-stopping minutes, zig-zagging through the trees, following Mitchell's internal compass.  
  
Trombley got to kill two more men. Jackson and Vala disabled four more. Brad got to be a hero and almost take one for the team, covering Jackson when some kind of energy beam blasts started whizzing by them.  
  
"When did they get a goddamn zat?" Carter panted, lobbing a fragmentation grenade behind her.  
  
Mitchell caught Brad's eye in the ungainly, ignominious tumult, and smiled wide and wild. "Officially SG now," he called over the sound of gunfire and panting.

Brad grinned back. "Same shit, different planet."

And then the Gate loomed like the answer to a prayer.  
  
"Dial that beautiful motherfucker!" Ray cried, still watching the treeline. Brad didn't answer, just grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back home.


End file.
